"Promise?" Faith called after me.

"Promise," I muttered. But I didn't even know what I was saying. I was already going over my last season's stats in my head.

"There she is!" Gray boomed as Quinn ushered me onto the deck. He reached out an arm, slung it over my shoulder, and squeezed. I tried not to cringe. "The pride of the Orchard Hill High basketball team!"

I kept my smile on for my mother's sake-and for Rick Morris-but it was difficult. Gray finally released me so I could shake Rick's hand, and I was able to breathe again, but now I felt like I needed to keep a wary distance from my mom's boyfriend. What was with all the fatherly touching? What had changed between the night of Shannen's party and now? I hoped he didn't think that me coming down here was some sort of sanctioning of his relationship with my mom-or that I'd somehow chosen him over my own father. But as Rick started to ask me about my season, and Gray and my mother looked on proudly, I had an awful, sinking feeling in my gut-a feeling that it was too late. For all of us.

Daily Field Journal of Annie Johnston Thursday, July 1.

Position: CVS.

Cover: None. I work here, bitches.

Observations: 10:47 a.m.: Subject Jake Graydon pulls into the parking lot. The top's down on his Jeep. He throws his arm over the passenger seat to look over his shoulder as he backs into a space. He kills the engine and looks around, like he's expecting applause. Yes, we're all impressed with your driving prowess, golden boy. Hang on while I click your Like button.

10:53 a.m.: Subject Jake is still sitting behind the steering wheel. Hmm. I wonder who he's waiting for.

10:57 a.m.: Subject Jake gets out of the car. Uniform: Orchard Hill High athletic shorts, white T-shirt, sneakers, Ray-Bans. Subject Jake peeks through the CVS window while walking casually by. He tries the door at Stanzione's Pizza. Looks momentarily flustered upon finding it locked. (Note: It's not even eleven a.m., smart guy.) 10:58 a.m.: Subject Jake casually strolls by again.

11:01 a.m.: And again.

11:02 a.m.: And again. (Query: Can this guy ever enter a place without staking it out first?) 11:05 a.m.: Subject Jake grows a pair and walks through the door. He looks at me, flinches, and heads straight for the back of the store. Where the condoms live. (Note: God, please let him buy condoms. Ringing up that transaction would make my summer.) After one complete circuit of the place, Subject Jake heads for the door. He hesitates a second, looks at me again. Seems to consider saying something, then thinks better of it. As he starts to walk out again, I speak.

Me: She went down the shore for the summer.

Jake: Oh, I thought . . . I mean, I know. That's not why I'm here.

Me: You thought she might have changed her mind.

Jake (defensively): No.

He walks up to the counter, picks up a random roll of mints, and slaps them down.

Jake: I just needed these.

I ring him up.

Me: You do have some awful breath.

He pays.

Jake (sarcastically): Thanks a lot.

He walks out, leaving the mints behind.

11:08 a.m.: Subject Jake cranks up the stereo in his Jeep and tears out of the parking lot. (Assessment: Somebody's in lo-ove.) 11:08 a.m.: I pop a few of my free mints. (Assessment: Spearmint rocks.)

"Ally, I'm sorry, but would you mind taking your feet off the table?"

I looked up to find Gray looming over me with bright red lobster-shaped pot holders covering his hands. He held them up like he'd just scrubbed in for a surgery and was letting the water drip off.

"Sorry." I let my Converse drop onto the white area rug under my feet, one of several that had been carefully and strategically placed throughout the great room to protect the rare Australian bamboo floors I had already heard far too much about.

Gray gritted his teeth, pulled his lips back, and sucked in a hiss. "Actually, would you mind taking off your shoes? I just had a cleaning service come in to do all the rugs."

I bit down so hard on my tongue I tasted blood. "Sure."

Laid out on the couch to my left, Quinn lifted the remote and changed the channel, flipping from MTV to ABC Family. I hooked my finger inside the back of my shoes to remove them. I could actually feel Gray's breath on my hair. I sat back again, but he still hovered. Finally, I had to look up at him. He gave me an impatient glare.

"What?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes, removed one pot holder, and put his hands out. "I'll just take those."

He meant my shoes. "Oookay." I bent over and plucked my Chuck T.'s off the rug, noticing for the first time how grungy and worn they were. Still, he took them from me without wincing and put them inside the closet next to the front entry. As he closed the door, I noticed that the shoes my mom was wearing earlier were in there, along with Quinn's sandals, which she'd kicked off upon returning from her first rehearsal. I didn't know this was a no-shoes house. Why hadn't someone just told me?

"My dad's a little anal about the beach house," Quinn said as soon as her father was safely on the far side of the island that separated the huge gourmet kitchen area of the great room from the living area. My mother returned from the bathroom right then, and I sank lower in my seat. He'd waited until she was gone to come over to me, hadn't he? The revelation made me feel icky and conspicuous. "You'll get used to it," she added.

But I didn't want to get used to it. Her dad was not my dad. And I didn't like that he was acting like he was.

I looked around the great room. When we'd finally come inside the night before, I'd seen enough to realize the place was very beautifully decked out with modern furniture and carved wood sculptures and other expensive trappings, but now I noticed the details. Like that there was a stack of round glass coasters on every single table. Like the bristled floor mats outside each of the sliding doors. Like the complete and total lack of magazines, books, beach towels, boogie boards, lawn chairs, umbrellas, and all the other beach-related paraphernalia that was usually strewn around a true LBI house. This was not the kind of place in which a person could kick back and relax-not like our shore house used to be.

When the doorbell rang a moment later, I flinched. Quinn jumped to get it.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ross!" Quinn trilled, standing on her bare tiptoes to accept a cheek kiss from Hammond's mom.

"Quinn! You get lovelier every time I see you," Mrs. Ross said.

Hammond and his brother Liam, who was basically a taller, skinnier, but still hot version of Hammond, stepped in behind their parents. They were followed by Faith and her mom and little brothers. All of them shuffled their shoes off before Gray and my mother had looked up from their pasta pots. Hammond lifted a hand in my direction.

"Hi, Ally!" Faith called, standing on her toes. "You have to show me your room!"

"Take her upstairs, Ally," Gray said congenially. "Show her around your new digs."

They're not my digs and you are not my father, I thought, but wasn't brave enough to say. Instead, I rolled my eyes, got up from the couch, and headed for the sliders to the beach.

"Ally? Ally, where are you going?" my mother called.

"I'm gonna go call Dad," I replied. "You know, the guy you're still married to?"

I closed the door behind me, shaking from my, admittedly, low blow. But honestly? Maybe she needed a reminder. Maybe they both did. I looked around for my flip-flops, which I'd definitely left out here earlier, but they were nowhere to be seen. Probably squirreled away by the shoe police.

I hurried down the steps anyway. It wasn't until my feet hit the cool sand that I could breathe again. I curled my toes, gripping the sand, then releasing it, letting it tickle the balls of my feet. Freedom was mine.

Then my phone beeped. I yanked it out of my pocket. It was a text from Faith.

WTF was that? R U O K?

I rolled my eyes and deleted it. Someone couldn't take a hint. For a minute, I considered actually calling my dad, but last night's conversation with him hadn't gone all that well, what with me lying through my teeth about why I'd changed my mind at the last minute, and him being oddly quiet in return. Besides, every time I thought about him and Jake together, I felt betrayed. What had Jake said about me? Did my dad realize Jake had been there the night Shannen had taken that video? Were they hanging out at Jump right now, wiping down the counters, talking about my crazy, fickle exit yesterday? The very idea made me want to hurl my phone into the ocean as far as I could.

Instead, I took a deep breath and walked a few yards toward the water, away from the house. Then I turned my steps north, following the edge of the dunes. The sound of the breaking waves cooled my nerves, and the stars overhead were like winking little friends, welcoming me back after my long absence. I took another deep breath and blew it out very, very slowly.

I loved the shore. Always had. I just currently couldn't stand the people who came with it.

A sudden whoop and a shout caught my attention and I froze. Squinting in the relative darkness, I could just make out the shadowy outline of about half a dozen people laughing and shoving each other closer to the shoreline. There were a couple of beer bottles-which was totally illegal, but common anyway-and an open box at their feet. While I stood there staring, someone noticed me and pointed me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The beaches up here were private, but trespassing was a favorite pastime of some of the locals (who claimed they should own the beach since they lived here all year), and of some of the environmental types (who claimed all beaches belonged to everyone). So was this someone's older brother or sister and their friends-someone I knew-or were they strangers?

I faced forward and started walking again, feeling like an open target. Any luck, they'd just ignore me and stay where they were.

I was about thirty yards away from them, drawing up even, when the security light over the deck on the Schwartzes' house lit up like a spotlight and completely blinded me. There was a rustle in the reeds and someone came barreling out onto the sand, slamming right into my side.

"Damn! Watch where you're going," he said.

I blinked a few times, purple spots floating across my vision from the light. All I could tell was that he was broad, and there was a case of beer balanced on one shoulder.

"Oh," he said, looking at me. "Hey."

As the spots began to clear from my vision, I saw that he had shaggy blond hair under his backward baseball cap, and that he was already seriously tan. His Hawaiian-print bathing suit hung low on his hips, and his white T-shirt was sweaty in spots, clinging to his torso. Square face, broad shoulders, thick calves. Just looking at him, the word "solid" came to mind. And beautiful.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"Um, no. I don't think so," I said. "I just came down with my family last night, so-"

"Wait. Is this your house?" he said, looking over his shoulder at the Schwartzes'. Before I could answer, his jaw dropped, amused. "Oh, shit!" he shouted. "Dudes! We're totally busted! One of the rich bitch bennies is here! Apparently we're on her beach."

My face burned as his friends closer to the water laughed. "I never said it was my beach," I hissed. "I don't care what you do."

I started past him, my arms crossed over my chest and my hands stuffed under my arms.

"Sorry," he called after me. "Just most people would bust my ass."

"It's fine," I said, just wanting to get away. "Have fun."

"No, wait."

I rolled my eyes and turned around to face him. "What?"

He dropped the box on the ground, ripped it open, and pulled out a Coors Light, which he held out to me. "Peace offering."

"No, thanks," I said.

"Come on. It looks like you could use one," he said.

I cocked one eyebrow. "Oh, and you know me so well?"

"I feel we've really connected," he replied teasingly.

I smirked. My eyes darted to the beer. I glanced back toward Gray's house, and took it.

He smiled. "I'm Cooper."

"Ally," I said.

"So, you're a weekender or what?" he asked.

"I'm down for the summer." I toyed with the tab on the can, flicking it with my thumbnail. "That's my mom's boyfriend's house," I added, pointing past his shoulder.

"Ah. I see." He had this glint in his eyes as he nodded, like he'd just completely figured me out. It both annoyed and intrigued me. "So come on."

"Come on where?" I asked.

"Come hang out with us, summer girl," he said, tipping his head toward his friends.

I considered for a moment, feeling tingly with possibility. But I'd never been one to party with strangers. And if the cops came and we got busted with alcohol, we'd all be screwed. My instincts were just telling me to bail when something caught his eye. I looked up to find Hammond speed walking toward us as best as he could in the sand.

"Hey," he said as he approached. "Everything cool?"

"Yeah," I replied, embarrassed. "Fine."

He shot Cooper a suspicious look and stepped closer to me, sort of squaring off with him. Cooper eyed him up and down, clearly amused.

"You know you're not supposed to be here," Hammond said.

My face burned with humiliation as Hammond played right into the "rich bitch bennie" stereotype. Cooper laughed and sipped his beer. Behind him, a couple of his friends had noticed Hammond and were loping toward us. Great. Just what I needed: a brawl on the beach.

"What are you doing here?" I asked Hammond.

"I just . . . your mom wanted me to see if you were okay," he said.

"Aw! How sweet!" Cooper said. "He's your mom's messenger boy!"

Hammond glowered. I could practically taste the adrenaline sizzling in the air between them.

"You know, I can have the cops here in under ten minutes," Hammond said.

I rolled my eyes. "Ham, go back to your family."

Cooper snorted. "Your name is Ham?"